The taste of your kiss is a bittersweet memory
by Katherine Houghton Beckett
Summary: Sara tries to come to terms with the fact that Neal is gone. Tag to episode, 3x16, 'Judgment Day', Sara centric.
1. Chapter 1

Summary - Sara tries to come to terms with the fact that Neal is gone. Tag to episode, 3x16, 'Judgment Day', Sara centric.

Author's Note - I know there are quite a few post 'Judgment Day' stories around, but being a huge Sara fan I wanted to write my own. And I wanted to explore some of what Sara may have been thinking and feeling once she discovered that Neal's on the run. I have taken some liberties in Sara's past and in her background to enhance the story.

Special thanks to my awesome beta-reader** lstuds.**

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><p><strong>The taste of your kiss is a bittersweet memory<strong>

Sara Ellis likes to win. She always has. She is single-minded and completely focused on her goals. She knows that the sweet taste of victory is always satisfying. She always wins in the end. She makes sure of that.

She is competitive and ambitious. She always strives for perfection. She wants to be the best that she can be. This has been ingrained into her nature. She has her absentee parents to thank for that. It was how she was brought up; with strict rules and challenging expectations. And she realizes that while she didn't always appreciate it growing up, she can accept that it's served her well. It was her determined attitude is that drove her forward through her college years; she'd continued on with her studies while mourning for her lost family.

The 'no-nonsense, no-getting-attached' approach she'd adopted through her college experience is something she's carried with her through her adulthood. She has become the career-orientated girl with the non-existent social life. It's less complicated that way. It's simpler, safer, and it's controlled and comforting. She'd vowed never to get hurt and left behind again.

Fortunately, in her line of work, the recovery of an invaluable possession and the excitement and accomplishment of solving another case is something that never fails to exhilarate her. It's her career that motivates her. It is that additional check in the box, another satisfied customer, a happy boss, and a fat commission check that has spurred her on for a very long time. And, for the most part, it is fun, rewarding, and it's made her days pass by in a whirl of intrigue.

However, recently she has also come to realize that the feeling of success and accomplishment is short lived and fleeting. It seems like an empty endeavour when there is no one left to share it with.

She can only blame one person for the change in her focus. And she puts it down to the moment Neal Caffrey, and his world, blew back into her life. With her ex-boyfriend, and a new group of friends and acquaintances, her life seems to have shifted in its purpose. Now, once again, she is invested in those around her. So much so that she's spent the best part of the last two days helping to protect the very man that six years ago she wanted to see lock away.

She gets the phone call from Peter Burke sometime late in the afternoon. From the fraught tone of the man's voice she knows immediately that he isn't the bearer of good news. And for a moment, she really tries to believe that Neal's hearing simply didn't go as well as they had all hoped for. Maybe Neal would go on to spend the remaining couple of years 'on-anklet', and she thinks maybe that wouldn't be so terrible. It would mean going on as they all had before, and that would be okay. She can prepare for that.

What she can't prepare for is the heart stopping news the older man calls to deliver. The words spilling from Peter's lips quite literally make Sara's breath catch up in her throat.

'_Neal's gone. He cut off his anklet. He ran. He had no other choice.'_

Peter's explanations travel the distance of the phone line. His words dance through her bewildered mind. She truly can't believe what she's hearing. The lengths Agent Kramer was taking to get to Neal were unimaginable. As were the actions and decisions those around her were being forced into making. Peter Burke, who she's come to respect since their time investigating Neal and the stolen Raphael back in 2005, probably never contemplated what he's just had to do.

Sara cradles the cell to her ear. Once her initial shock subsides, she begins to take in more of the details Peter is supplying. He warns her that Kramer may come after her too, but she doesn't care. It's the first time in this ill-fated conversation that she feels her ballsy nature raising its head, and that inner strength offers her a glimpse of comfort.

She tells Peter that she understands, and that she'll watch her back. She offers to help him in any way she can. She informs him that she's fine when he directs his concerns toward her. She's a strong woman, and that's what she tells Peter and herself before she ends the call.

Then she sits there, staring blankly around at her large, bright office space. She tries to organize her thoughts, to process what she's just learned. Her eyes soon flicker to the Raphael in front of her.

The priceless work of art is quite the prize. She's chased after it relentlessly, spending more late nights working at this desk than she cares to remember. She'd gone after _him_ hard. She'd focused every ounce of energy and determination she had to recover this painting. And six years ago, it had stung when she had come out of her pursuit empty-handed, and Sterling Bosch had needed to pay out for the painting.

Yesterday, '_Saint George and the Dragon'_ was delivered right into the palm of her hand by the very man who'd stolen it in the first place. She'd gotten the coveted Raphael back, and that victory had tasted as sweet as the kisses from Neal's lips.

Sara pushes herself up and out of the chair. She acknowledges that Neal Caffrey has charmed her all over again. She's let him in, and they're growing closer than ever. He's confiding in her. He's supplying her with buried truths, treasured secrets, and tales of a mysterious and wondrous past. Now, she knows exactly what the Raphael had meant to him, and why he stole it in the first place. And she can't look at it.

She's only ever wanted honesty from him, and that's what he's finally started to give her. She swallows hard and turns away from the painting; despite her better judgment, she is falling for him all over again. She knows she is, and right now she can't help but feel foolish, and abandoned, and a whole lot of other emotions she'd much rather not be feeling right now.

She can't be here. She needs fresh air and a chance to clear her head. She plucks her over-sized purse up from its resting place beside her desk and walks purposefully towards the glass doors.

She strides out of the offices and steps into the elevator. As she hits the button and travels to the ground floor, her mind is already planning to spend the next few hours numbing her pain and confusion with copious amounts of scotch, while sitting on the balcony of her apartment and watching the fading sun sink down into the dark depths of the city.

She hails a cab right outside of Sterling Bosch's towering building, but her Park Slope apartment isn't where she finds she wants to go to. Instead, she impulsively decides to ride to June's mansion tucked in the heart of Manhattan. The drive is seemingly shorter than she recalls. She's staring out of the taxi's window as the extravagant white building comes into view. She pays the cab driver and climbs out of the taxi, but she isn't really focusing on anything other than the turmoil she's attempting to keep buried within her soul.

The housekeeper soon invites Sara into the lavish house, stating that June isn't home. And as Sara walks up the stairs, and along the quiet, winding hallways, she wonders if Neal's sweet and loyal landlady already knows that her tenant has fled the country.

Sara knocks softly on his door; it's a foolish gesture on her part because she already knows no one's home. But she supposes she does it out of habit and respect. And perhaps because she won't believe he's gone until she sees an empty apartment with her very own eyes. She's secretly thinking and wishing that they're all wrong and he'll answer the door to her.

The seconds tick by in silence, and with a resounding sigh she finally pushes the door open. His apartment is quiet, void of all sound and movement. The fading rays of sunlight dance across the glass of the terrace doors. The day is ending, slowly giving way to the shadows of the night.

Sara steps into the room, her heels clacking against the wooden floor. She feels a little awkward being here. Her steps echo through the still kitchen area. She sets her purse down on the table and looks around. The living space appears to be exactly how he's always left it; his possessions, books, and paints are all present, and neatly organized. His half-finished sketch is waiting on the easel. The whole room looks as though nothing's changed. It's as if Neal's simply out at work and that he's planning to come back after a long day.

It's strange; though she guesses it's because he was in a hurry and didn't have time to put his affairs in order.

Sara moves over to the counter, retrieving a glass from the cupboard. She then reaches for an untouched bottle of wine and uncorks the bottle with a slightly unsteady hand.

The fateful morning, sixteen years earlier, when she'd woken up to discover her sister, Cynthia, had run away creeps into the forefront of her mind before she can stop it. Sara remembers tiptoeing into her older sister's room. Cynthia and their father had fought for what seemed like hours the night before. Her father and sister had fought before, many times, but nothing like this. Sara hadn't slept much, trying to block out the angry, raised voices with her pillow. When their yelling had finally stopped, Sara had managed to fall into an uneasy sleep; though at the first rays of daylight, she'd crept out of bed. She'd wanted to check on her sibling.

That time, standing in the middle of her sister's empty room, was so very different. Sara could tell immediately that something was wrong. The bedroom was left in a complete state of disarray; Cynthia's closet hung wide open and most of her clothes were missing. They had been packed away, along with some of her most treasured possessions. Her stuffed toy pony, a picture taken from a family trip to the Grand Canyon, and the journal kept hidden under the mattress were all gone.

Sara bites her lower lip to stop the tears from falling. It was as if Cynthia, though desperate to get away, had wanted to take a part of her life along with her; like she hadn't wanted to forget. And Sara wants to believe that there are some parts of Neal's life that he'd want to hold on to. That he had found some good in his new life, and that he would want to treasure some of the memories he's made. She hopes that he doesn't want to completely forget her; or Peter, and Elizabeth, and all those individuals who have come to care for him over the past couple of years.

She pours herself a glass of wine and trails over to the couch. She idly wonders if she means as much to Neal as he's starting to mean to her. She doesn't think it really matters anymore, and she pushes the thought as far back into her mind as she can. She can't help but feel mad at herself for falling under his spell all over again. After all, it was just a few of months ago that she'd discovered his hidden treasure.

Sinking down onto the couch, she kicks off her heels and tucks her feet beneath her. She takes a large sip of the tangy drink before she sets down the wineglass with a clink on the coffee table. The quiet sight in front of her, and the cold realization that she's been left behind once again, hits her hard.

She knows now, more than ever, that this is a part of Neal's life. Being Neal Caffrey means being able to up and leave without a moment's hesitation. He has to be able to cut the ties and move on because that is who he is, and it's necessary for his salvation. And, she supposes, in some ways they are very similar. Sara may not be running from the law, but she's been running from herself, her past, and hiding from her pain for far too long. She's cut herself off from everyone before, and she fears she may very well do it again in the wake of Neal's disappearance.

Neal had no choice but to leave New York City; she understands that, and she's trying really hard to accept it. He's been trying to be a good man; she's seen that from him. He has changed. And he deserves much better than whatever terrible fate Agent Kramer had in store for him in Washington D.C. She can accept that he needed to go, that he needed to act quickly in order to preserve his own salvation. She wishes him only the best. She hopes that he's safe, and she's truly glad that he has Mozzie by his side because they've seen each other through the thick and the thin. And because being alone, and running, is a lonely fate that he doesn't deserve.

Sara stretches her long legs out in front of her and she rests her head on the cushions behind her. She thinks back to the therapy sessions her father had insisted she go to as she closed herself off from everyone after Cynthia disappeared. She remembers staring up at white ceilings every Friday morning, the therapist, Dr. Sheila Martin, plying her with question after question to begin with. Sara would answer what she wanted to, and she evaded anything that seemed too difficult and too personal. Then, as the sessions wore on, and Sara remained detached, Dr. Martin asked less of her never-ending and probing questions, leaving Sara to spend the best part of the hour laying in silence.

Sara had broken that silence one rainy October morning and asked Dr. Martin the one question she knew her therapist couldn't answer. The one question no one other than Cynthia could probably answer. _Why_?

Why had Cynthia left? Why had Sara been left behind without even a goodbye?

The questions that followed Sara through her teenaged years are the same ones that persist in her mind today. And it's _why_ he hadn't said goodbye to her. And she supposes she already knows that answer; he was rushed into making his decision. He'd needed to act, and he hadn't had the chance to say goodbye to her or anyone else. But she can't let go of the fact that Cynthia left her without a word, and she's been left wondering why for the best part of her life. And now Neal has done the same thing.

And as she takes another large sip of the wine, she wonders if she would have gone along with him if he'd asked this time. When she'd woken up this morning and had gone into work early to look at the Raphael she guesses she felt like she was beginning a new lease of life. She'd giddily and foolishly even planned surprising Neal with dinner and wine. And it wouldn't have mattered if he'd won his freedom or not because she'd begun to allow herself to wonder if she and Neal might have had a shot at a future together.

If he had had the time to come to her, would he have asked her to come along? He'd considered asking her before when they were still together. She allows herself to wonder whether the idea of taking her along with him had played on his mind before he ran.

She sighs and reaches for the wine. She downs the remaining contents in the glass and then pours another. She isn't angry; not really. She suspects he didn't have the time to contact her. Or maybe he was trying to protect her by not getting her involved any further. She's sad that she's been left behind again. She can't help but feel that way. This, being left by the people she loves, has happened to her too often. The pain hurts just as much as it did when she was thirteen-years-old. In the dimly lit room, her mind whirls with all the same un-answered questions that she'd had after Cynthia had gone.

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><p>Sara's not sure how long she's been resting, curled up on Neal's couch. Her sleep is troubled and interrupted. The shadows and the cool night air have crept into the room. Her head is light from too much wine, and as she opens and blinks her lashes, she guesses she dozed off. She reaches the palm of her hand up to her face. Her cheeks are slightly damp, and she knows she's cried for him. She's going to really miss him; she admits that to herself and to the silence that surrounds her.<p>

She honestly doesn't know what she's going to do next and she hasn't felt this way in a long time. The feeling scares her somewhat, but she knows she'll be all right. She'll find her way forward; she always does. She pulls herself up into a seated position, smoothing down her hair. She decides she should head home. She can't do anything else here except sit and wait. Walking back over to the table, she quickly gathers her things. She remembers her father telling her many-a-time when she was growing up that success and victory always come at a price. It certainly seems her father's wisdom is proven correct today. The victory of getting the Raphael was short lived, as was regaining her connection with Neal. Now he's gone without a trace, and she doesn't know if he's coming back.

Sara pushes that sad thought away and pulls on her jacket. She closes her eye lids shut and takes a deep breath. She tells herself it is okay.

The chiming of her cell phone has her lashes flutter back open. She turns sharply and her eyes gaze at the object still lying on the coffee table. The number shown on the glowing handset isn't one she recognizes. It doesn't take her dazed mind long to deduce who is calling her. She steps forward and reaches for the cell. Her nervous fingers curl around the object. As she presses the button to accept the call, she has no idea what she should be thinking or what she is going to say to him.

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><p>Okay, so I'd always intended to just write Sara's reactions to Neal's leaving but as I wrote the story and came to this point I have swayed back and forth on whether to leave it as it is or whether to write a conversation between them. And I thought I'd let you guys decide; would you like a part two or would you prefer their conversation to be left to the imagination? I am happy to write a follow up chapter or leave it as it is. Let me know.<p>

Either way thanks for reading.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note - So here's the second part of the story as per readers' requests. Thank you so much to everyone who left comments and feedback on the first piece. And I feel I need to apologize for the long delay in posting part two. My life's been going through some pretty new and amazing changes. And then my husband unfortunately got taken ill, he's on the mend now but while I've been dealing with real life I think my muse has been a little fickle. But here it is, finally.

Also I want to say a big thank you to Jess for beta reading this for me.

Enjoy!

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><p><strong>The taste of your kiss is a bittersweet memory<strong>

**Part two**

Sara's eyes flutter open to take in Neal's empty apartment. The shrill noise seeps into the quiet room. Her eyes fix on the buzzing phone. She takes a couple of tentative steps forward. She doesn't recognize the number; the call is coming from an unknown source. Her mind jumps to the inevitable conclusion; she instinctively believes she knows who is trying to contact her. Could it be _him_?

The fact that the call is coming from an unfamiliar number doesn't surprise her one bit. Neal Caffrey would not be the great con man he was if he didn't take the simplest of precautions, like changing his number, and maybe contacting her using a disposable phone.

She takes a shallow breath and reaches down to retrieve her cell. For a brief moment she wonders whether she should answer it. Answering it could lead her to become an accessory in a crime. It might mean crossing that invisible line, between being a law-abiding citizen, to aiding and abetting a wanted criminal.

That isn't something she wants. Sara knows her limits. The sensible thing for her to do, in this very moment, is to ignore the call and walk away. The smartest thing is to forget that it, and Neal, ever happened, and continue on with in her banal lifestyle. But she can't do that. She cares too much, and is too invested.

Her nervous fingers curl around the object and she plucks it up from the wooden coffee table. She stares at the illuminated blue screen. She wants and needs answers. And just maybe, this time, the answers and explanations are right in front of her, tangible and within her grasp. She can't continue to run and hide from the truth, or at least that's what her father and her therapist kept telling her years ago.

She accepts the call. Her hand is shaking as she presses the handset to her ear. She has no idea what she should be thinking. She's not sure of what she is going to say to him. She doesn't know whether to be happy and relieved that he is calling her, or mad at him for putting her through this hurt and upset.

"Neal?"

The question leaves her lips in an uncertain, conspirator's whisper. She cradles the phone closely to her ear, walking towards the glass doors. She pulls them closed tightly before staring out at the city's glittering night skies. She's knows that she is alone in the room. She suspects that Mozzie still sweeps for bugs each and every morning, being the ever-vigilant and paranoid soul he is, but she still feels on edge. She feels like she's being watched, and brings her free hand up to settle on her nervously-beating chest. "Neal is that you?

"Yes. It's me, Sara." Neal's gruff reply travels over the dead space between them. It's a relief for her to hear the sound of his voice and to know he's alive and well. She closes her eyes and inhales a deep sigh. "Are you alone?" he asks then, and he sounds tired, worn and cautious.

"Yes! Yes, I'm alone," Sara confirms that she is in a safe, secure location. With her knees weak and unsteady she moves to into the heart of the room and sits down on the couch.

"Can we talk?" He's hesitant in his request. He's concerned that someone else could overhear their conversation, but he's also worried that Sara could be mad at him. He's concerned that they will all be angry at him for leaving them.

Sara is silent for a moment. She doesn't know how to answer that. She is upset; she wants to just be mad at him. She's disappointed in him and in herself for that matter. But she cares about him. She's worried for him. And she can't just hang up the phone and let him go, even if it is the best thing for her own self-preservation.

"Yes. It's okay to talk." She reassures him. Her fretting for him seems to have overtaken any anger and hostility she had imagined she would direct at him. "Are you okay, Neal?"

"We're doing good," he tells her.

"We?" Sara inquires in a low tone. She knows exactly who Neal means without him even needing to say the little guy's name. They'd finally done it, they'd left. "And you're both okay?" she repeats her initial question because she doesn't know what else to say in that moment.

"We're both doing well, all things considering.""

It is then that Sara feels her anger begin to fizzle beneath the surface without warning. Neal sounds too calm; his voice is so level. It's almost as if he's trading simple pleasantries with her; when in actual fact he's fled, cutting off his anklet, and now he's contacting her on a secured channel. He, of course, has to know the consequences waiting for him, and for Mozzie, back in New York if the authorities track him down.

She takes a breath and tries to remind herself that they had to flee. She reminds herself that there was no other choice for him. Neal was under threat and that's why he ran. That is who Neal is; if under threat he runs. And she suspects that his running away probably affected Neal deeply. More than he is letting on. He has friends and a life tied to the city now. She, and many others, had attested to as much earlier that day at his commutation hearing. But at the same time, he is who he is. Sara remembers that he is still the con man with his big dreams underneath it all. She's already imagining Neal and Mozzie on some exotic island somewhere. Off living the fantasy in a lavish beach-front villa, while her and Peter, and everyone in his life, miss him and grieve for him. And that hurts and it stings.

She pushed away those thoughts. She blinks, attempting to hold back the tears of doubt and panic. "Where are you, Neal?"

The silence coming from his end of the line sends a wave of worry spiraling through her. He isn't going to tell her. She guesses he's already skipped town. Her frazzled mind vaguely recalls the hidden passports she'd found months before. He's most likely to have fled the country and she doesn't know what to say or do about that. And again part of her wants to end the call at that very moment.

"You shouldn't be calling me."

"I know," he answers simply. He knows calling her is risky. It could very well bring her further into the web, and under fire with Agent Kramer.

"Then why….?"

He answers her question immediately this time. "You know _why_."

'_Why didn't you say goodbye to me?'_

That question, that one question, haunts her each and every day. She's been left wondering _why_ since she was thirteen years old. And now Neal Caffrey is calling her, and maybe he is trying to spare her a little of the pain this time. And yet she's afraid of the words that may slip past his lips. Neal's heard enough of her secrets to know she already blames herself for Cynthia's disappearance. She confessed to him how she still wonders if she failed her sister and her family. And now she wonders if she's failed Neal a little too.

Sara brings her fingertips up to her lashes and stubbornly wipes away her stray tears. She now knows why he is calling her and it scares her. Before she has time to consider whether she actually wants to hear those words, with all the reasoning and justification behind them, her panic sets in on her. She doesn't want to lose him. Her mind whirls with how she can help to make things right in New York City so he can return.

"Are you okay?" he asks her.

"I'm fine," she snaps.

"Are you?" He knows her better than that, and it's clear that she isn't.

"I'm fine," she repeats stubbornly. "People leave, things get stolen. The world keeps on turning." Too many things of great value have disappeared from her life. And sadly she's more used to searching and trying to find them, rather than trying to move on and be happy and content with what she still has around her.

"Sara…."

"No, Neal, I'm a big girl. I know how things are." Her words cut him off before he even has a chance to begin his sentence and she hears his faint sigh from across the distance.

"I didn't have another choice," he tells her. He sounds genuinely sorry and regretful. He liked his life, and he'd confided as much to her, on the very couch she's sitting on, only a couple of nights before.

"Neal, you need to come home." Her voice is earnest and maybe a little fragile. She wants him back, she wants him home. Her aching heart wants them to have a chance at some kind of a future together.

There's another moment of silence on his end. She wonders whether he's contemplating coming home, or merely wishing that he could. She idly imagines that he hasn't traveled too far away, that he hasn't already crossed the country's borders, but she knows it's a mistake to think that. He wouldn't be calling to tell her 'goodbye' if he hadn't already slipped away through the cracks.

And then he confirms her fears and replies, "I can't."

"Neal, please. I'll help you." She's all too aware she's pleading with him but she doesn't care. She and Peter, and the others, have all banded together to help out before and they could do it again. They all love him. They'd all gone along to his hearing determined to help him achieve his freedom, and they'd do the same for him again. He just has to trust them. "We'll all help you. We'll fix this."

"It isn't that simple." He sounds a little defeated and desperate, like he's already given up. "Kramer isn't going to stop, Sara." It's surreal to believe that only this morning they were all planning for the chance that Neal may be off anklet and now he's on the run and everyone's world is in disarray.

"We can help you," she promises him. They will make Kramer stop; they'll do whatever they have to. They'll do whatever they can to bring Kramer down. Sara's more than willing, and she imagines Peter is too. Neal just has to let them try.

"Sara, I…." Neal utters with a sigh. "I can't do this."

"You can't keep running Neal." She's stern because she knows it's the truth. And Neal does too. Sooner or later the authorities will catch up with him. Peter's found him before and he probably will again. Or worse Agent Kramer will.

"I know." Neal sounds strained and sad. He truly didn't want this, he didn't intend for any of this to happen. He's fighting against unforeseen circumstances and he's acting in the interest of self-preservation.

"We can figure something out!" She doesn't want to simply give up. That isn't her style.

"I don't think we can." He's defeated, knowing Kramer is hell bent on getting to him and making his life miserable, and knowing that his actions today could have serious implications. He doesn't want jail time. He doesn't want to give Kramer the satisfaction of snatching his life away. He's had a taste of freedom and he doesn't want to give that up. And Sara can surely understand that even if she can't understand his recent actions.

"Neal, please…." She feels utterly useless and she hates that feeling so much. She's tried to convince herself for so long that there is nothing she cannot achieve and that there is no one who can touch her. But right now, not knowing where he is, there is nothing she can do.

"I should go," he says regretfully.

She thinks she can hear Mozzie's faint voice in the background. The little guy's probably sensed that Sara is trying to talk Neal into coming back, and he's keen to pull Neal away before that happens. At the sound of Neal's words her heart sinks. She really doesn't want to let him go. She can't ignore the sense that this is probably the last time she'll ever hear from him. And that really hurts.

"Yes, of course." She keeps her voice as level as possible, while biting back the tears.

"You take care of yourself, Repo."

He sounds sad too, his voice is strained betraying him just a little. And at the sound of the nickname he gave her, Sara feels the stray tears spilling down her cheeks. He isn't coming back, and she's really going to miss him. She feels unbearably useless when the only words that spill from her lips are her own farewell. "You too, Caffrey," she manages.

"Goodbye, Sara."

At those words Sara's emotions rise up in her throat and practically choke her. The tears roll down her cheeks as she whispers a soft goodbye and he hangs up the phone.

With a click he vanishes from her life.

She sits there in silence. She sits and she waits. She doesn't break down and cry like she knows she probably needs to do. She stares into the darkness of the twinkling city lights, and tries to collect her thoughts and control her emotions.

If she was a romantic then she would hold on to the hope that someday the love she holds for him would bring them back together. But, since she was thirteen years old, she's become a realist. Being left behind is something she's had to come to accept.

She wonders maybe, if in fact, she was spared back when she was just thirteen years old. She'd been so mad for so long that no letter or explanation had been left behind by Cynthia. She had wanted a 'goodbye', but as sad and confused as she was lying in bed each and every night throughout her high school life, one thing had shined in through the darkness. Hope. Hope that when the phone rang the next morning it would be Cynthia asking to come home. Or hope that one day Sara would just see her in the street, or a friend would have been in contact with her sister. That tiny little ray of possibility of having her sister back someday had gotten Sara through the endless days.

She won't forget him. She loves him. She allows herself to admit that much. It's ironic that she finds that inner-strength within herself given that she knows she won't ever see him again. But she wonders if that is why. He's already left. Admitting her feelings and being vulnerable cannot hurt her this time as she's already been left behind and abandoned.

She'll remember him, his kisses and his shining white smile. She'll remember the blissful feeling of letting go, pushing away thoughts of work and routine to lie in bed with him on a lazy Saturday morning. She'll remember the whisper of happiness she felt while they were together. They were so very different on the surface, yet when they were together they seemed to find peace and contentment. But they weren't meant to be she guesses, even though they had so much promise and potential. It's sad and it's bittersweet but it's how these things go. It's how life can be; to touch upon happiness and to fall short.

She pulls herself up from the couch. She stands tall and gathers up her things. She'll learn from her mistakes, she always does. Falling for a man who was never going to change, or at the very least a man who was never given a fair opportunity to do so, was probably not the smartest thing she could have done. But she'll heal and adapt, and she'll be ready to face another day. Because that's who she is. That's what she does.

Sara takes one final look around the apartment. His things are still laid out, undisturbed and waiting, waiting for a man who probably won't ever return to claim them.

"Goodbye Neal." She sighs and flicks off the lights, casting his room into darkness. She heads down the hallway and back to the streets to hail a cab.

_~fin_

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><p>Thank you for your time.<em><br>_


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